


Wordpicture: Harry Potter

by Deannie



Series: Wordpictures [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-07-20
Updated: 2003-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-19 03:27:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deannie/pseuds/Deannie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a sort of unpondered truth in Harry's life that other<br/>people had mothers...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wordpicture: Harry Potter

As he always did these days, Harry Potter woke from an unsound sleep and rolled over to check the time on the battered old clock at his bedside. It had been a "gift" from the Dursleys--a car-themed clock that had once been Dudley's. Unsurprisingly, it had seen hard times; the faceplate was cracked and the little TransAm that was meant to keep track of the seconds now constantly waffled back and forth around six o'clock, as if trying to figure out whether to go forward or back.  


But the minute and hour hands worked, and they told Harry that he had managed a respectable three hours of sleep before Cedric's death woke him. It was an accomplishment of sorts--he almost never managed more than two. He prided himself on his ability to live on so little sleep, but in truth, he felt tired all the time.  


Not that there was anyone to notice, really. Ron and Hermione sent the occasional letter, but it wasn't like he could go whinging to them about it. They already knew Cedric was dead, and Harry's parents as well. And they already knew how much he hated being stuck on Privet Lane...  


Writing to Dumbledore had yet to elicit any decent response. Hagrid would tell him to buck up.... He'd tried to mention it to Sirius once--even had the words written on the parchment--before he decided that his godfather wouldn't be of any real help in this department, either. What Harry really needed was what Ron and Hermione had. Someone who cared for them, who looked after them and made sure they ate their vegetables (or indeed cared if they ate at all) and cleaned their rooms (though perhaps not in Ron's case) and brushed their teeth...  


Harry needed his mother.  


Which, of course, was a rather useless observation on his part, given that she was some fourteen years dead. But still, as he looked out at the night sky, at the full moon that made him think fleetingly of his old DADA teacher, he wanted to talk to his mother.  


It was a sort of unpondered truth in Harry's life that other people had mothers. He'd barely cared as a young child, going to grammar school. The thing was to get out of Privet Lane every day--he didn't much care _what_ happened at school, so long as he didn't have to hide under the stairs for a few hours.  


But once he got to Hogwart's, he started caring. His friends there had mothers who loved them and knitted them maroon sweaters that clashed horribly with their hair. They had Muggle mothers like Hermione's and Dean's--parents who had allowed their children to go far away to what must have seemed mystic places, all for the good of their educations...  


In fact, of all his friends at Hogwart's, Neville was the only one to really understand what having no mother meant. Having no one to turn to who would gather you in and hug you and let you get all your fears out. No one to just... love you despite your faults. Even Dudley had _that_ , though much he deserved it.  


_I want my Mommy!_  


It was a childish whine, one used to taunt and tease, but right at that moment, it fit Harry's thoughts perfectly.  


And so, grabbing pen and parchment, he sat quietly on his bed, parchment propped on one of his spell books, and wrote the letter he needed to the most:  


> _Dear Mom,  
>  I miss you...._

* * *  
The End


End file.
